


Bruises on Your Thighs Like My Fingerprints

by ladyrogueevie (claire_debonair)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_debonair/pseuds/ladyrogueevie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You..." Jim swallows as he makes the leap and lands in the same place as Spock, feeling the dull ache of the bruises around his neck as if they're fresh again, not days old. "Why is that relevant right now?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises on Your Thighs Like My Fingerprints

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my drafts, so I decided to polish it up and post. Sequel to [Tell Me Once, Tell Me Twice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1094452/chapters/2202926)

Jim is learning that when Spock focuses on something, he really fucking focuses. He'd thought the scrutiny the morning after their...thing on the observation deck had been intense, but that was nothing compared to the way Spock's looking at him now. 

"Do I have something on my shirt?" He asks, more to break the silence than to provoke a reaction. Spock does that odd head tilt that Jim has tagged as 'I am still gathering evidence to allow me to answer that question', with the added blink that means 'the question I answer will not be the one you asked'. 

It says a lot about them, really, that Jim can get all that from two movements that on anyone else would probably be involuntary. 

"Yes," Bones interrupts, finishing his scan of Jim's body and returning to stand next to his head. "It's called blood, and I'm guessing it isn't yours."

Jim eyes the hypo needle in Bones' hand. "I think this bit here is mine," he says, gesturing to a patch over his left hip. "And there was - ow! Didn't I tell you to stop doing that?" He glares at Bones while rubbing the suddenly painful part of his neck, already feeling the painkiller numbing the various places on his body that are, well, in pain.

"You did," Bones replies. He looks unrepentant, damn him. "I'm ignoring you."

"I'm your Captain."

Bones pats him on the arm - thankfully not the one with the three-inch gash in it from a stray piece of metal - and smiles mildly. "I've got your best interests at heart, Jim. Even when you don't." 

"Hey, I have too! I'm alive, aren't I?"

"I believe that fact is a result of the timely intervention of Ensign Sulu and myself, Captain," Spock interjects, speaking for the first time since he'd helped drag Jim into the medical bay, "rather than your own efforts."

Jim lets his head drop back down onto the hard surface of the examination table he'd been hoisted onto, sighing deeply. "You're conspiring against me, I know it."

"And he catches on." Bones applies a tight bandage to Jim's cut arm, tying the ends off neatly before wiping his hands with a cloth and nodding to Spock. "He's all yours. Try and get him to explain what the hell happened, would you? I'm a doctor, not an interrogation expert." 

Once the doors have slid shut behind Bones Jim starts to get off the bed, getting as far as propping himself up on his elbows before a warm hand settles in the centre of his chest and pushes him back down. "Bones didn't say I had to stay here for you to 'interrogate' me, right? I mean, I don't think I missed any of that conversation-"

"It is not about the events on the surface of Rigaru that I wish to speak to you about, Captain."

"Oh, for-" Jim sighs again and rolls his eyes. "Call me Jim, would you, especially when you're pinning me to a table." He presses against the hand Spock still has on him, finding it as immovable as he expected.

"Very well. Jim." Spock moves his hand, but this time Jim doesn't try to sit up. "I was referring to our conversation two nights previous to this one." 

"You..." Jim swallows as he makes the leap and lands in the same place as Spock, feeling the dull ache of the bruises around his neck as if they're fresh again, not days old. "Why is that relevant right now?"

Spock rests his hand, the one that had been holding Jim down, on the cool surface of the medical bed near Jim's hip. The other, so far as Jim can tell, is held behind him in typical Spock fashion. "I have found," he says, tone as dry as if he's reading out co-ordinates or discussing a chess move with Chekhov, "that the only way to be sure of a correct conclusion is to gather more data."

"I still don't-"

"You were injured during your... altercation with the Rigarians." 

Jim frowns slightly. "Yes, but-" He abruptly stops speaking as Spock lifts his hand to rest just above his hip, not touching, but close enough that Jim can feel the heat of his skin though the fabric of his tunic. "Ah."

"Thus far the only data I have is that you seem to enjoy pressure placed on the bruises I inflicted during our disagreement following your return to the Enterprise. It would seem to be prudent that I-"

"Spock." Jim lifts his eyebrows when Spock tilts his head questioningly. "We didn't 'disagree'. You beat the shit out of me, and I enjoyed it. If you're going to touch me," he continues, indicating Spock's had with a flick of his eyes towards it, "then stop being a tease and do it."

That almost gets him an eyebrow raise, but Spock checks it at the last minute, so all he gets is an almost-eyebrow quirk. Then Jim couldn't care less about Spock's eyebrows, because there are long fingers pressing against the mass of bruises on his hip, and he's suddenly so blindingly hard he can't help but arch upwards. 

He groans, the sound choked off as Spock presses just a little harder, somehow managing to find the spot where the bruises are worst, where it feels best to have the white-hot pressure of someone touching him. Spock still looks calm, collected, whereas Jim knows he must look a wreck; hair a mess, clothes covered in blood (not his own, Bones was right) and dirt, skin a patchwork of cuts, bruises and more serious gashes. 

All of that flies out the window as Spock's hand slides from his hip to his crotch, pressing equally as hard against his dick as he had against the bruises. That, coupled with the shock of returning blood flow to the bruises on his hip and the residual adrenaline running through his system, is more than enough to make Jim jerk once, twice against Spock's hand and come hard, back arching as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

He sinks back onto the hard bed, panting lightly. Forcing his eyes open he sees Spock watching him with what Jim recognises as his 'fascinating' expression, insomuch as it's an expression. He waits, catching his breath.

"I believe I was correct when I theorised that you enjoy pressure being placed on any bruises you have sustained, not merely ones inflicted by myself."

"When have you ever been wrong with a theory," Jim says, making it not quite a question. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, body aching even with Bones' painkiller in his bloodstream, not to mention the very relaxing orgasm still making his skin tingle. "Help me to my quarters?"

"Is that wise?" Spock asks, glancing down at the front of Jim's pants and back up to meet his eyes. He holds out a hand anyway, grip firm as Jim pulls himself to his feet. 

"I'm covered in god-knows-what anyway; no one's going to notice one more stain. Besides," he adds, when Spock doesn’t move aside to let him leave, “I think you’re right.”

Spock tilts his head. “A rare occurrence, despite-”

“Shut it,” Jim says, and claps a hand to Spock’s shoulder, shivering a little as the sting of fabric against his scraped palm mixes with the fading sparks of orgasm. “You, me, a bed - yours or mine, I don’t really care - and some more data points.”

“My quarters are closer,” Spock says, after a beat, and steps aside. He keeps pace with Jim along the corridor, Jim hyper aware of the hand hovering an inch away from his lower back, like Spock thinks he’s going to faint or some shit, and might need catching.

Then when they step into the lift, and the doors slide shut, Spock’s hand finally, finally makes contact, warm and solid. Jim leans back into it, already thinking about the next data point - gag reflexes, maybe, and how much of Spock’s cock fucking into his throat he can take, fuck, yes - and then Spock shifts, finds the cluster of bruises on his hip again, presses it just too hard-

And oh, oh yeah, they’re going to enjoy this.

 

♥


End file.
